


Depression is a Metaphor

by SloanGreyMercyDeath



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/F, This fic is about depression, and it’s a jemily fic, but it’s mostly an EMILY fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SloanGreyMercyDeath/pseuds/SloanGreyMercyDeath
Summary: Sometimes, Emily’s darkness is too much to handle alone
Relationships: Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 6
Kudos: 90





	Depression is a Metaphor

There are a million metaphors for depression and Emily knows every single one. It’s a crushing weight, a thick fog, an empty darkness. For her, it’s just a pile of dirty dishes, a pounding headache, and an empty mind. Not empty. Her mind is actually very full.

It’s full of bad thoughts stacked one on top of the other until it seems like every crevice of her brain should be full, but she can’t manage to put any words together. There’s her depression metaphor. Is that a metaphor? It doesn’t matter. When she’s laying in bed with her blanket tucked around her, hair greasy and limp, stomach empty and nauseous, she doesn’t care about a fucking metaphor. She doesn’t care about anything.

It would be easier if she cared too much, instead of caring about nothing. Emily is good at pushing emotions down, pretending they don’t exist, but she is currently stumbling blindly through inky blackness searching for proof that she is still alive. There’s another metaphor. Maybe.

With a whimper, Emily curls into herself, her blanket managing to wedge itself further into her somehow and her pillow sucking her face in just a little more. Why is she thinking about metaphors right now? She should be getting out of bed, showering, brushing her teeth, eating breakfast, going to work. It doesn’t seem like an overwhelming list of tasks, but it is.

Emily knows that “getting out of bed” isn’t one task but several. She will have to open her eyes, uncurl her body, push the covers off, move to the edge, sit up, put her feet down, stand. She vaguely remembers Reid talking about spoons and remembers the container of peanut butter that’s on her nightstand. If she can make it there, she can eat something.

There’s a small voice in her head, crackling like an old radio, that tells her she should just let herself starve to death. No one will miss her. It might even be better for everyone. She won’t have to worry about Doyle somehow escaping and hurting the people she loves, she won’t have to worry about disappointing her team, her friends, her family, and she won’t have to worry about the inevitable goodbyes when she just dies later.

There is something she isn’t thinking about and it looms over her like a specter of death. Another fucking metaphor. Wait. Maybe that one is a simile. Emily chuckles to herself, hearing for the first time how stuffed her nose sounds and how hard she’s sobbing. She can speak so many languages and she doesn’t know what a simile is. That’s proof enough that she’s not good enough to be alive.

Of course, the chuckles die as quickly as she wishes she would when her mind finally drifts to JJ. JJ is a spot of brightness in a cold, unfeeling world. She’s Emily’s everything and Emily is nothing at all. It’s only a matter of time before JJ sees that Emily is nothing but a cardboard cut out in the shape of a person. Maybe JJ already knows.

Emily manages to open her eyes. They sting from the salt water of her tears, but she can see the jar of peanut butter on her nightstand. Salvation is right there. Starvation is already in her bed, though. She could just do nothing and die easily.

Her bedroom door opens and Emily tries to muster the strength to care. Dying by an intruder would be quicker than doing nothing, so maybe this is a blessing. Emily’s gun is somewhere under the bed. Another option.

“Emily?”

Somewhere in the cliched fog of Emily’s mind, a dim light flickers at the familiar voice. A sob bursts from her chest and she covers her face. Inside the blanket, she can only smell herself. She smells like depression and despair and body odor. JJ doesn’t need to see her like this.

“Babe, are you ok? You haven’t been answering your phone…”

The voice trails off and Emily wonders if JJ has spotted her phone in its place at the bottom of a glass of water. It rang so loudly and Emily couldn’t answer, but she knew that if she didn’t answer, she was failing and the guilt led her to destroying her phone, so at least the unanswered calls were no longer her fault.

“Oh, Emily…”

JJ’s voice trails off again and then the bed dips and the blanket is pulled back from her face. She’s closed her eyes again at some point and she can’t see her perfect, beautiful girlfriend and it makes her feel a little bit better. She knows she looks ugly, more than usual anyway. Another reason to disappear.

“Emily,” JJ sighs, brushing her hand lovingly over a feverish cheek, “why didn’t you tell me you were having a bad day?”

“I can handle it,” Emily replies, stuffing the old radio that wants her to be dead deep down where she’ll never find it again. Or for at least another few weeks. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

Even with her eyes closed, Emily knows that JJ doesn’t believe her. She’s sure she looks pathetic and weak and pitiful. JJ is the picture of health and Emily can’t even make her brain stop thinking about metaphors. 

“You don’t have to be fine,” JJ tells her and Emily can hear the tapping of manicured fingers on glass. “I’ll tell Hotch that you’re sick and need me.”

“You don’t have to,” Emily says quickly, screwing her eyes shut tighter. “I’ve been through this before. It’s ok. It doesn’t last that long. I just need to tell my brain to shut up.”

A thumb brushes away a stray tear and JJ’s skin is so cool that it feels like drinking fresh water. “Ok.”

The bed shifts and Emily can tell that JJ is gone. Sucking in a harsh breath, she knows that this time, she’s ruined it for good. JJ is gone and Emily is alone, just like she deserves. She’s succeeded in pushing away the one person who might have loved her and now she’s left to drown in her what-ifs and maybes.

The clink of porcelain startles her. She opens her eyes and winces at the light in the room. JJ has opened the curtains and Emily can see that it’s day. Her alarm clock reads 4:17 and Emily assumed it was night. How long has she been in bed for? When did she last eat or shower, really? When did she destroy her phone?

JJ is collecting dishes, including the one that holds Emily’s phone. She flashes her girlfriend a smile and then heads out of the bedroom. Emily is so confused that she sits up.

Her body groans and protests the move, like it hasn’t happened in days and maybe it hasn’t. She may have been lying prone for a week and she wouldn’t know. Her new position makes her feel light-headed and she rubs her eyes, sending sparks across her vision.

“Here.”

Emily opens her eyes and sees JJ standing beside the bed again, holding a glass of water and two Ibuprofen. They won’t do anything for her brain, but they’ll help her body. Accepting the offerings, Emily swallows the pills and her pride and she watches JJ clean her room.

Emily isn’t sure how it got as messy as it did, but JJ makes short work of organization. Emily just sits upright, drinking her water, as JJ organizes, begins a load of laundry, and starts the shower. She stands beside Emily’s bed with her hands in her hips.

“Can you walk or should I carry you?”

“I can do it.”

Emily’s voice is raw in her throat after so much crying and so little talking, but the pain feels like the sting of truth. So, she pushes the covers off, moves to the edge, swings her legs off the side, puts her feet on the floor, and stands. It feels like she is out of spoons.

JJ, the perfect girlfriend, sees this and takes Emily’s arm. She guides her to the bathroom, managing not to wrinkle her nose at the way Emily is sure she smells. They reach the bathroom without incident.

Once inside, JJ helps Emily out of her shirt, pulls down her underwear and then helps her into shower. Emily can do this part of her own, although JJ is nice and reminds her of each step.

“Shampoo,” she says quietly after Emily just stands beneath the hot water for a moment too long.

They make it down the long list of steps like “rinse the shampoo” and “get the conditioner” and “rub it in” and “rinse it out”. JJ never sounds annoyed or impatient or upset. Her voice is just soothing and calm and she stands on the other side of the glass, where it’s dry, and she helps Emily get clean.

They work together to get her dried off. While they’re in the bathroom, JJ puts toothpaste on a toothbrush and makes Emily brush her teeth. It’s such a simple task, but Emily knows she hasn’t been doing it because she hasn’t been getting out of bed. 

She lets JJ dress her like she’s an invalid and maybe right now she is. She wouldn’t have gotten out of bed if JJ didn’t ask her to and so maybe she needs a girlfriend who can be a nursemaid when she needs it. When Emily can, she’ll buy JJ a thank you gift and JJ will refuse it.

Emily tries to get back into bed, but JJ catches her arm and leads her out of her bedroom. It feels wrong to be standing and wrong to be walking and weird to be out of her room. JJ just leads her to the couch and sits her down. She points a finger at Emily’s face.

“Stay.”

Emily wants to say she’s neither a dog nor a child, but the thoughts in her head are stacked too high again and she just lays in the couch instead. JJ goes to the kitchen.

It’s very nice of JJ to help her like this, Emily thinks. Too bad it’s the last thing they’ll do together. JJ can see now how unworthy of love Emily is and she’ll leave. She’ll pack up her drawer and the cookware she’s brought over and she’ll say ‘I’m sorry, but you are too much and not enough at once. It seems impossible, but you manage.’

The thought makes Emily cry again. She doesn’t want to lose JJ and she knows that JJ _wants_ to help her and that she loves Emily. She knows that this won’t make JJ leave her or hate her, but that damn static radio noise is back and it’s spouting metaphors about revolving doors and company ink.

JJ walks back into the living room with a bowl of soup. She sets it in front of Emily on the coffee table and sits, facing Emily and crossing her legs. Emily sees nothing but love and care in her eyes.

“I’m not leaving you,” JJ says matter-of-factly. “My drawer is untouched and I just used my pot and my spatula, so I can’t take my cookware until I’ve cleaned it. I’m going to sit right here and you’re going to drink this soup and then we’re gonna watch some movies, ok? I’m choosing.”

Emily stares at JJ with wide eyes, but she nods.

“Good.” JJ smiles and tilts her head. “Do you want brain kisses?”

Nodding, Emily leans forward and JJ peppers her forehead with light kisses, chasing away shadows and knocking over stacks of bad thoughts, so there’s room to breathe. She lightly kisses Emily’s nose and then kisses her mouth. JJ licks her lips.

“Minty fresh!” She lets go of Emily’s face, so she can tuck wet hair behind her ears. “Do you feel a little better?”

Emily is surprised to find that she does. The shower helped a lot and so did leaving her bed. It feels good to be in clean clothing and the soup beside her actually smells appetizing. In the span of 30 minutes, JJ has managed to make Emily feel like a human again and not a cloud of sadness.

“Yes,” Emily answers truthfully. She feels tears well up in her eyes again. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” JJ says simply, picking up the bowl of soup and giving it to Emily. “Anytime.”

She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She says it like taking care of Emily comes naturally to her. She says it like Emily won’t go easily into the night, like she would be missed, like she’s worth saving. 

It’s a lot. It’s almost as much as the sadness and darkness was, but this time Emily feels warm instead of cold and she’s eating soup and sitting up and looking into the eyes of another person. Being so easily pulled from the brink makes her feel like she's been stupid all along. Why didn’t she just call JJ right away?

She knows why and she knows that she won’t call the next time either, or the time after that. Still, now she knows that she only has to hold out until someone finds her. JJ is there to do her dishes and make her eat and remind her that people are people and not empty spaces. Sometimes existing is enough.


End file.
